


Pandora's Box

by daniko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniko/pseuds/daniko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You must know that the time when women wanted to vote for the Most Charming Smile is over. Sex rules today’s world. Women and men want to see beautiful people in an intimate setting, looking well-shagged. I say we take advantage.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pandora's Box

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** _Magical or Non-magic AU - Harry is Severus' Personal Assistant. He was hired because he wouldn't try to sleep with his boss like all the others before him. What nobody banked on was Severus seducing Harry._
> 
>  **Notes:** First off, I’d like to offer a heartfelt thanks to and , for their straightforward and dedicated help, especially after all those readings. And there were. A lot. Of readings. As for the story, well, I might have taken a fancy to impossible situations... Just saying. Enjoy!

**Part I.**

Grimmauld Place, Number 12, was empty when Harry arrived via Floo, but it was only to be expected.

The house looked and felt significantly better, mainly due to the sheer amount of scrubbing and curse-breaking Harry had done in the past few months. He felt he could almost apply for a job at Gringotts with his sole experience being cleansing the Black’s House of Dark magic. The Goblins would probably accept him. So far, he had managed to fix the basement, the ground floor and first storey’s parlours, studies and libraries as well as the master bedroom, which he had been using since he moved in permanently a few years ago.

Harry could honestly say he hated this house, but it felt like bad karma to just abandon it – much like his sodding godfather had done anyway. So his only options were living here or selling it, and he was not stupid enough to pass it along onto the next sucker without making sure he was not going to earn himself another Dark Lord to defeat out of the deal. That, and some books were true rarities. Thus, the cleaning. 

Ron and Hermione helped for a while, but they had their tiny loft apartment, lots of love and crappy jobs about which they complained non-stop, so Harry was left with Kreacher, Snuffles and Nimue – his couple of American foxhounds – and Reginleif, Harry’s new owl. (She and Nimue were not on speaking terms and Harry feared he would be coming home one day to find Nimue without eyes or Reginleif without a head.)

This little menagerie came to greet Harry when he was brushing soot off his robes.

Harry picked up his mail and Reginleif hooted in encouragement. There were a couple of billing services and July’s _Quidditch Quarterly_ , but it was the last letter which made Harry frown. It was written on good-quality stationary stamped with a logo saying _Pandora’s Box_.

Harry was sure he absolutely did not want to read this one. He would have torched it with a well-placed _Incendio_ if he wasn’t a bit terrified of the sender. As if the letter had heard his thoughts, Harry noticed a note on the envelope, written in a frightfully familiar scrawl. It read,

> Mr Potter,  
>  I know you are considering burning this letter to cinders without reading it; then pretend that the owl lost it. I do have a son, if you recall. I promise you that if you do this, the consequences will be dire.  
>  — N. 

Harry swore and, ignoring any misgivings he might have had, opened the letter.

***

“Mr Creevey,” greeted Narcissa Malfoy, without looking up from the _Daily Prophet_.

“Morning, ma’am. You’re early,” said the receptionist, handing Narcissa today’s mail. Narcissa finished her coffee and set the empty Fortescue’s paper cup on the counter. She folded her newspaper and accepted her mail, going over it with half-hearted interest.

“It’s Friday,” she said in guise of a reply, “which means Mr Potter got our letter yesterday. Did you clear my morning schedule, like I asked? Good. When Mr Potter gets here, send him in. No need to ask,” she smirked, “Molly and I will be waiting.”

*** 

Harry stomped through New Diagon Alley.

It was still very early. There weren’t many people in the streets and the ones that were had enough sense to leave Harry alone and only nodded politely. They knew Harry wasn’t usually awake this early, only arriving at the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes mid-morning at the earliest, but the situation had to be dealt with.

Not that there would be much dealing from his side, mind.

No, it was best if Harry stopped fuming before reaching the building that housed _Pandora’s Box_ headquarters. If he didn’t, and actually said what was on his mind about manipulative, demanding, old hags, he’d be either promptly hexed or earn an earful of Molly Weasley bursting into tears. She would blow her nose loudly, saying that she was very sorry, she knew they asked a lot, but Harry was famous and the children needed his help, so on and so forth, until Harry ended up feeling like Grinch.

Narcissa—oh, _Narcissa_ would look momentarily disgusted by Molly’s outburst and then, very much like the manipulative viper she was, she would start patting Mrs Weasley sympathetically on her shoulder, looking so very contrite to be asking Harry for things she knew he’d give an arm not to do. Not his wand arm, though.

Well. Truth be told, there wasn’t any doubt about who held the reins at the _Potter and Associates, Inc_. and, not for the first time, Harry wondered what the hell he had been thinking when he asked Narcissa Malfoy of all people to manage the magazine he’d been setting up with his bastard of a godfather.

Then again she did get things done. Even if she had to screw over her own employer.

When Narcissa had volunteered to help out at St. Hedwig’s Orphanage right after the war, Harry and Mrs Weasley had been so far out of their depth with their new pursuit that they might as well be swimming in the middle of the Atlantic and, for some reason, she stayed longer than most volunteers. Something to atone for, Harry supposed. He knew how particular Slytherins could be about things like that.

“How on earth did you never get cheated out of your money, I’ll never know,” she had said to Harry once, while shoving oatmeal in a ginger boy’s mouth with a look that broke no argument. Harry recalled thinking she must have had practice with her nasty little progeny, if Malfoy had been anything like Dudley, The Toddler. And Harry rather suspected he had.

“I set up a business with a Weasley and Sirius Black,” Harry had replied at the time. “Mrs Weasley is physically incapable of deceit and I think it would be a hard blow to Sirius’s pride if he ever had to cheat someone out of something he wanted.”

Narcissa had smiled lightly – she probably knew what Harry meant first-hand – and said, “You work at that shop all day. A regular meeting with your associates would not be amiss. Just so you can be at least cognisant of your business transactions. Goblins are notoriously greedy.”

“I think Mrs Malfoy is right, Harry dear,” had said Mrs Weasley, entering the kitchen. And that marked the very first time the two women had ever agreed on anything. It was coincidently the first time Harry was coerced into anything by them, though admittedly for his own good that time.

It eventually came to be that Narcissa was conveniently without a hobby when Harry and Sirius had drunkenly decided that the only way to avoid erroneous tabloids would be to keep one of their own where they would tell the truth, only the truth, nothing but the truth. Thus was born a weekly mag _Pandora’s Box_ , with an editor that would put Miranda Priestly to shame, according to Hermione’s disgruntled mutterings.

It was also how the bi-monthly meetings for _Potter and Associates, Inc_. came to be.

At the moment, however, Harry was not thinking about next week’s meeting with Sirius. No, he was crossing the Alley into the yellow-brick building of _Pandora’s Box_.

“Good morning,” he said through gritted teeth at the reception desk, “could you please—” Harry narrowed his eyes, “—Dennis?”

Dennis Creevey smiled genially. “Heya, Harry!”

Harry pressed the bridge of his nose. “Right.” He looked up. “I’d never guess you’d go for him, going by the rumours I used to hear at Hogwarts,” Harry started resignedly. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had this conversation dozens of times in the past three years, with various people as the other half of it.

Dennis’ eyes grew wide, before he broke out into a giggle. “Oh, no! I do like girls. That’s why Mrs M hired me.”

Harry felt himself relax. Good—that was good.

Harry wasn’t looking forward to the dozens of interviews Narcissa and Molly forced him to sit through every time their volunteer Potions Master fell, yet again, for someone’s poorly constructed plan of getting into his pants. It would seem that spending thirty-eight years of his life as a repressed virgin had turned Severus Snape into something beyond oblivious.

Snape didn’t even have to look for partners, because they gleefully came to Snape. Unfortunately, using their organisation as a front. Admittedly, it was the only time he allowed himself to connect with the masses. And only because he owed Harry a life-debt. It didn’t matter that Harry told him he didn’t want repayment; Snape could be frustratingly, irascibly, amazingly stubborn.

Harry eventually stopped arguing.

That is, he stopped arguing about the life-debt. There were plenty of other things Harry found great satisfaction in arguing with Snape about. Most of all about how he carelessly caused them to lose receptionist after receptionist, caretaker after caretaker. Harry bet Snape didn’t even realised _why_ they left.

It would seem Narcissa had lost her patience, if she had taken to purposefully hiring straight men.

“What’s with the hair anyway?” he asked Dennis.

Dennis ran his hands through his electric-blue hair. “Do you like? Draco Malfoy says—.”

“Speaking of Malfoys,” Harry interrupted, “which way to _her_ office?”

Harry said ‘her’ like one might say ‘the devil’ or ‘Judas’.

Dennis giggled. “Yeah, Mrs Malfoy said you might stop by. It’s on the upper floor. Her name is on—.”

“Thanks, Dennis!” Harry added over his shoulder, not bothering to wait until Dennis finished. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot while he waited for the lift’s doors to open, then trudged through the corridor towards the door that read, “N. D. Malfoy” in pretentious cursive. He didn’t bother to knock.

“Narcissa, what—?” Harry snapped, slamming the door behind him, before coming to halt when he noticed the three occupants of the room. He wasn’t proud of his sudden urge to sit very close to Mrs Weasley.

“Harry, dear!” she exclaimed from the plush tartan sofa where she was sitting with her knitting gear.

Snape followed with what came close to a purr. “Good morning to you, Potter.”

Harry could feel his shoulders pull back, in an inadvertent attempt at looking taller, but otherwise ignored him. Harry spent most of his time ignoring Snape these days, seeing as Snape had got very weird after waking up to Harry sitting at his bedside in Hogwarts’ Infirmary. For one thing, he now purred instead of snapping.

“I can’t believe you’re threatening me into doing what you want,” Harry said to Narcissa. “ _Again_.”

“Needs must, Harry,” she said casually.

Harry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was sort of pointless to have an argument with a woman who simply broke none most of the time, anyway.

“I believe Mr Potter is looking remarkably... _tamer_ , since the last time, Cissa. How on earth did you do it?”

“Shut it, Snape,” Harry snapped, out of sorts. There was another thing about Snape: he put emphasis on the oddest of words these days. “Why don’t you go find yourself another toy and let the grown-ups talk?”

Snape looked bored. “Still harping on that, are we? Perhaps you ought to follow your own advice.”

Harry looked down his nose at him. Or tried to, at least. “No, thanks. I don’t sell myself short. Like _some_.”

“Boys,” Narcissa admonished. “Let’s talk business, shall we? I promised my husband I’d have brunch with him today and I have no intention of being late.”

Harry scowled, crossed his arms and threw himself into the chair next to Snape. Mrs Weasley smiled fondly.

On another hand, Snape’s nose twisted in a way that told Harry he was terribly exasperated.

“I’ve heard you’ve been busy, Potter” he said, after a moment. “Buying out Zonko’s to make a second Wheezes, have you? Perhaps George Weasley did something wise in selling you Fred’s share of the shop. How many stores does that make, now? Five hundred?”

Harry gritted out, “Only three, you bastard.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow. “Quite the lobby you have going on. You only need a candy parlour to rule Diagon Alley. Or an _art gallery_ , perhaps.”

“Oh, shut it. It’s just the Wheezes, St. Hedwig’s Orphanage and _Pandora’s Box_.” He looked at Snape sideways. “How about you? We didn’t have a chance to catch up at the Victory Ball this year,” Harry asked with blatantly fake interest.

The reason they hadn’t talked was because Snape had been too busy feeding his tongue to Sirius.

Snape’s face blanked.

Harry pursed his lips and considered himself vindicated. Over what, he’d decide later. Snape must have done _something_.

“Well, if you must know,” Snape said casually and Harry was instantly on alert. There was no such thing as a casual Snape. “I’ve been working on the pieces for my first exhibition.”

Harry frowned. “Exhibition? Of wha—oh, no! Hell, _no_. Just—no.”

Snape hardly seemed surprised. “I’ll donate _half_ the profit to charity. To St Hedwig’s Orphanage.”

Harry stopped. He looked at Snape suspiciously. “Half of it?”

Snape’s lips twitched. “Mhmm. Half of it.” Harry could feel the misgivings and Snape must have realised it, because he added, “Rita Skeeter was sacked from the _Daily Prophet_ last month and we had such an arrangement that I didn’t have to worry about publicity. Believe it or not, it was more than enough to keep my studio open. Now, however, it might be time I left my pseudonym behind.”

“Oh, I believe it all right,” Harry gritted out. “What I can’t believe is that you thought you were fooling me with that stupid name. _Evan Prince_. That painting of me right after the battle was worth, what? Five hundred galleons?”

Snape looked rather pleased with himself. “A little more, actually. I’m rather proud of it.”

“Since when do you paint, anyway?” Harry demanded. It was something that had been bothering him for a while, but up until now he didn’t to want to invade Snape’s privacy by just asking.

Snape bristled. “I don’t merely paint, Potter! I’m an _artist_.” Harry resisted the urge to sit up straight and made a show of rolling his eyes instead. “My pieces are well-accomplished, elegant works of art worth a considerable sum of money. Try to remember that.”

“Oh, excuse me. Allow me to ask another question, then. Since when are you an _artist_?”

Snape sneered disdainfully. “It’s a calling that was ignored for far too long.”

Harry snorted. “Right. So, between Death Eater meetings and Potions classes, you _painted_ ,” he drew quotation marks in the air, “and hung your paintings where? Next to the slimy, green, dead things?”

“Overkill, Mr Potter.” Harry growled. “Now, to the issue at hand, please. I still have much of Ministry’s stipend for Services Rendered, meaning this is not so much about money as it is about publicity. Without people willing to buy my work, I might as well close down the gallery. I happen to like my hobby. You happen to want money for that orphanage of yours.” Snape’s tone dropped a couple of notes. “It’s... _meant to be_.”

Harry cleared his throat and glanced at Narcissa, in time to see her sneering at Snape’s words. “Why can’t we just endorse his exhibition in the next issue of _Pandora’s Box_?” he asked her.

“It would be publicity for _Pandora’s Box_ as well, to support this exhibition.”

“Oh.” Harry sighed. Suddenly, it was all very clear. “How much?”

She smiled in a way that meant she was terribly proud of Harry for showing some wit. “Severus offered to sell the _Prince’s Studios_ to _Potter and Associates, Inc._ for five percent of our stocks. Provided he retains the management of the Studio.” She cleared her throat. “Some of our boys would appreciate the opportunity to work with Severus. And if you think I’m sending my s—er, any of our models with him without a chaperone, you’re out of your mind.”

“Therefore, I’m to be demoted to PA jobs, am I?

“Hmmm, since when do you know such... _long_ words, Potter?”

Harry pretended not to hear Snape.

“I’m the owner of this company,” he said to Narcissa, “I do have to approve of this, you know?”

“It’s democracy, dear,” interrupted Mrs Weasley. Shit, there they went. “Narcissa and I voted and agreed on accepting Severus’s offer. I told Sirius his vote doesn’t count if he cannot set old grudges aside, so that makes it two out of three. We decided to talk to you after all the messy bureaucracy was out of the way. We know how you hate those things.”

Narcissa was practically glowing with pride at Mrs Weasley.

Harry glared at each of them in turn. “What do I have to do?”

“Just manage my schedule and be present while I paint nearly-naked men. One ought to think you’d jump at the chance to satisfy your voyeuristic tendencies, since you’re not getting a leg over anywhere else.”

Harry felt as if he were about to burst into flames. “I _told_ you, I didn’t know you were in the broom closet with Bagman! How could I have known?”

“You also didn’t leave.”

“I froze! It’s not every day you find two guys shagging in a closet!”

“Ha!” Narcissa snorted. “You should have seen Sirius at parties in the old days.”

Harry resisted the urge to rock himself in a corner until he forgot what Narcissa was implying. He found himself staring at the sly look Snape was giving him. “Why, Potter, I would never have taken you for the _shy_ type, with the way you used to take off your clothes in the Quidditch dressing-rooms at Hogwarts.”

Harry drew himself upright. “That was before Malfoy started taking pictures, you asshole.”

Snape chuckled. “Fun times, those.” Harry leaned back down, arms crossed, and took a deep breath. No need to give Snape the satisfaction of riling him up. Harry was an _adult_. “Potter,” Snape said, his voice deep, “we’re both... _adults_ here.”

There it was again. Did Snape get some kind of speech disability after Nagini’s bite...? Then, the admission registered with Harry. He gaped.

“Hogwarts is a world away. We were all a bit cruel—.”

“You mean, _you_ were a bit cruel, and it wasn’t a bit. It was _a lot_.”

“—but we’ve made our peace. Like Albus would have wanted.” _Bastard_ , Harry thought. “I’m proposing you a business deal. I might not have gone over it in the best of ways—” he glanced at Harry with one of the phoniest apologetic expressions ever, “—but what you must decide is if this deal is advantageous for your company or not. You must know that the time when women wanted to vote for the Most Charming Smile is over. Sex rules today’s world. Women and men want to see beautiful people in an intimate setting, looking well-shagged. I say we take advantage.”

By the time he finished, Harry was transfixed. Snape could sell books to trolls, if he ever put his mind to it. Harry knew, of course, that Snape had fooled Voldemort, and even Dumbledore to certain extent, but he knew it theoretically. He wasn’t at all prepared to have first-hand knowledge of just how bloody _reasonable_ Snape could sound.

“I—hum,” Harry cleared his throat, then glared when he noticed Snape’s expanding smirk. “You’re a manipulative bastard,” Harry told him. “I bet you’re lying through your teeth—.”

“I’m not. I’m adaptable. The best way to convince a Gryffindor is honesty,” Snape replied lightly.

 _Light like a man who knows he’s won,_ Harry mused darkly. “You’re right, though,” he said, “St. Hedwig’s needs money to hire more people to help Mrs Weasley.” He sighed. “All right. Welcome to _Potter and Associates, Inc_.”

Snape’s expression turned obnoxiously smug. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Portkey carrier, holding a seashell. “We leave for Greece on Wednesday. Light clothes and sun-cream.”

Only then did his lips stretch into a predatory smirk. Harry could only swallow thickly and pray for the best.

 

 **Part II.**

Harry blinked in the sunlight as he exited the Portkey station. The sun was bright in the sky and the day was warm and dry. Not at all like Britain. Harry smothered a sigh, feeling some tension leave him at the scent of sea in the air.

Suddenly, there was a very proprietary hand on his behind.

Harry whirled around, a curse on his lips, only to find Malfoy extending him a pair of shades, a slight smirk on his face. “Can’t have any damage done to those pretty eyes, can we, Potter?” Harry snatched the sunglasses and shoved him away, glaring at the little bastard. He saw Snape snort and shake his head, so Harry glared at him, too. “Relax, Potter. You’re in paradise.”

Of all the models in _Pandora’s Box_....

Snape signalled a cab before Harry and Malfoy could get into it and, in a few minutes, they were checking-in at a five-star Muggle hotel. Their suite had two bedrooms and a sitting room, as well as a spacious bathroom. The balcony extended along both divisions.

“It’s oriented south,” Malfoy said, to all appearances just barely resisting rubbing his hands in glee, “which means we’ll have sun all day long. I can barely wait to start working on my tan.”

“ _Do_ you even tan?” Harry asked maliciously. Malfoy flushed, then scowled and ignored him.

“He doesn’t,” said Snape, dragging their luggage inside and closing the door in the valley’s face. “If anything, because he’s here to _work_ ,” he added towards Draco, who crossed his arms and appeared ready for a major sulk.

It was then that Snape walked into one of the two bedrooms, the one with the king-sized bed, and set his things inside.

Harry and Malfoy shared a commiserating look, but saw no point in arguing and got ready to share the one with the twin beds.

***

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” muttered Snape. Harry glowered.

“Uh, Sev,” said Malfoy, elegantly getting to his feet, before draping a silk robe over his body. “Not to be fussy or anything, but surely you know how many checks you sign by the end of the week. One.” He held up a manicured finger. “So, you know, you should probably just settle for me. You’d be rather well-served, if I might say so myself.”

 _The little, entitled prick_ , Harry thought, only to growl when Malfoy proceeded.

“It’s not my fault that you got the Austen heroine here.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Malfoy?” Harry snapped, hands tight over his shirt. Merlin, Harry was so sick of nasty, little divas like Malfoy, and then everybody bloody else, trying to get a piece of him. He was a person, dammit, not baked goods. Damn Snape, too, for daring to ask this of Harry.

Malfoy leered. “You know what, I think I will.” He cupped himself through his robe. “After seeing a glimpse of your _ankle_ , how can I—ow! Severus!”

Snape loomed over him, glaring darkly. “Next time you do something like that in front of me, Draco, you will get worse than a Stinging Hex. Next time, I will tell your mother.” Malfoy paled. “Did I make myself clear?”

“It’s Potter’s fault,” Malfoy muttered. “Everything is Potter’s fault.” His voice rose to a shout and he threw his hands up, “There’s nothing in my life that hasn’t been ruined by _Potter_. I hate you, you bloody four-eyed nancy!” He threw a sandwich wrapper at Harry and ran out of the balcony.

Harry tried to look hurt.

Snape blinked after him. “That boy has always been such a drama queen.”

“You got the queen part, all right,” muttered Harry.

“You two have that in common,” Snape said.

Harry bristled, but before he could protest, Snape was in his personal space.

“Now, Potter,” he magically lifted Harry from behind the bar where he’d been hiding and sat him on a high bench, “tell me what your problem is.”

“You tell me to pose with Malfoy out of the blue and then ask me what the problem is?” Harry asked incredulously. “I think this constitutes professional coercion.”

“It’s just for a few hours—.”

“You want me to take my bloody clothes off!”

Snape sighed. “Potter. We’re in paradise.” He gestured to the setting, with the blue sky, clear waters and golden beaches. Harry fought back a wistful sigh. “This is a private room,” he continued, “I’m bloody well paying enough for it every day, by the way. We’ll get you a nice bathing suit, a toga even, if you want. You won’t be naked. So, what’s the matter?” he asked, voice tight.

 _Probably with the effort of not losing his patience_ , Harry thought.

Snape must have taken his silence wrong, because he reached down and patted Harry’s knee awkwardly. “What can I do to make you more comfortable?” he asked.

Harry looked him up and down.

“ _What_?” Snape demanded.

“I was just wondering what you have done with Severus Snape,” Harry told him honestly. “Or, what? Did you take a psychology course in your spare time, as well?”

Snape glowered. “For your information, I did. I’m told that models are egocentric pansies that need to feel taken care of.” He nodded in the direction Malfoy had gone. “Would you rather I snapped and assigned detention?” Harry would, actually, but that was a thought for another time. Bath time, specifically. “I only asked you to take your bloody clothes off and smoulder for me!” He forcefully took a breath. “Do you want the money for your army of urchins or not?”

“I can’t smoulder!” Harry cried suddenly. Snape blinked. “I can’t look sexy to save my life, all right, I’m not even sure I know how! Why do you even want me to pose with Malfoy? He’ll just grope me like he’s been doing ever since we got here. Do you even know that at night he—?”

Snape stared for a moment, before he started chuckling very low, successfully interrupting Harry.

Harry stared at him in outrage. “You were supposed to make me comfortable!”

Snape was apparently trying to get his laughter under control. “Potter, it’s not Necromancy Principles. You lie down in that chair there; run your hands down your body and let go of those sighs I know you’ve been smothering since we arrived, while letting Draco hold your hand. It’s not that hard. I’d do it, if I thought people found the two us together sexy.”

“Really?” Harry asked breathlessly. Then, he shook himself. “And you think they find _me_ sexy, do you? That people are going to buy paintings of a scrawny-looking fellow in a skirt being groped by Draco Malfoy, just because he is Harry Potter?”

Snape’s eyebrows had risen to the limit on his forehead. “Indeed,” he said slowly. “ _Indeed_. I think I see the problem now.” He shook his head. “Scrawny-looking fellow?” he repeated. “You are a complete improbability, Potter.”

Harry could have sworn Snape sounded... fond. Suddenly, Harry found himself pinned by two very focused, very intent dark eyes. He’d almost took a step back, if not for his stubborn resolution not to let Snape win. Ever. “Okay, Potter,” Snape began slowly, “could you be so gracious as to... _give me a hand_ with this?”

For some reason, Harry thought this one was not being weird with his words, but rather murderous annoyance being beaten into submission. His shrug morphed into a nod halfway through.

“Good. Allow me to get rid of all that tension beforehand.” Snape took a glass vial from his trousers pocket, took the lid off and sniffed it, then nodded in satisfaction. Harry watched him carefully. Snape could be very unpredictable. “Well?” he said, quirking an eyebrow when Harry still didn’t move. “Go lie down and take off your shirt.”

Harry’s amusement vanished. “I beg your pardon! We didn’t disc—.”

“A massage, Potter!” Snape snapped. “I meant to give you a massage, so you would get all mellow and allowed Draco to get within a foot of you!”

“Oh!” That made sense. Then, “ _Oh_. Oh, no! If you think I’ll fall for one of your pitiful attempts at—.”

Snape sneered. “Please. As if I had to woo a single person after your flamboyant dramatics at my trial...”

“Right. Shouldn’t you be thanking me for getting you everyone you want?” Harry asked snidely.

Snape glowered. “Not everyone, no. Take off your shirt!”

Harry glared long enough for Snape to realise his displeasure, then said, “Fine. I trust you, go figure. If you want this, I’ll help you.”

Snape’s expression softened. “I do appreciate—well, go lie down. Close your eyes.”

One thing could be said about Harry. When Snape got that half disbelieving, half pathetically grateful expression, Harry was powerless to deny him anything. Just like when Snape asked for a loan to open his own gallery. Not that Snape knew about it. Harry wouldn’t have got away with both his testicles if Snape so much as suspected of his rather tender feelings for that particular expression on Snape’s face.

Without much option, Harry took off his shirt and lay down on the straw chaise longue, pillowing his head on his arms. He felt himself grow a little hotter in anticipation, but he did his best to ignore it. He closed his eyes. Moments later, he felt two large, hot hands settle on his shoulders. “You just need to relax,” Snape breathed in his ear, before slowly starting to rub Harry’s back.

It felt odd, but not unpleasant, to have his clean-shaven—waxed, actually—skin so exposed. Harry might make it a regular thing. The sea breeze had just taken a turn for the cold, but Harry felt feverish: hot and flushed. He really shouldn’t be leaning into Snape like this. It felt amazing, though. He opened his eyes. “You’re good at this,” Harry told Snape quietly.

“Yes, I took a masseur course one summer,” Snape replied, just as quietly.

Harry snorted. “Anything you _didn’t_ do during the summer?”

“Went on a holiday with Harry Potter and shagged him silly. But I’m still hoping.”

Harry gasped, then moaned as Snape pressed his thumbs into Harry’s shoulder in a very particular way. After that, Harry lost track of time. He felt wonderful; warm and pliant and really, really fond of Snape. If he could just—oh, yes, right there; the knot on his shoulder that always prickled in the mornings after Harry fell asleep in his study. Snape went lower, rubbing the end of Harry’s back, before drawing himself upright.

“Better?” Snape asked. Harry hummed in appreciation and saw Snape’s lips twist in a wry smile. “You are utterly oblivious, Potter. No wonder Draco—well. Turn ar—.”

“Oh, wow,” someone drawled, all of a sudden.

Snape and Harry tried to get up at the same time, causing the chaise longue to tip dangerously, before it turned over and sent both of them tumbling to the floor. Snape’s breath left him in a whoosh when Harry fell on top of him, then whimpered when the chair fell on top of them.

“Ow,” Harry protested.

They looked up to see Draco’s figure framed by the sun, hands on his hips. “Malfoy?” Harry asked.

Malfoy snorted, sounding bitter even to Harry’s ears. “Wow, that’s some _work_ you’re doing, Severus,” he said, before twirling on his heels and stomping back into the hotel room. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen Malfoy looking so offended. Or Snape looking so guilty. He cursed through gritted teeth, picked up his things and stalked in the opposite direction, leaving Harry to wonder just what in the blazes had happened.

***

“I fucking hate you, Potter!” was the first thing Malfoy said when he stomped into their shared bedroom later in the afternoon and threw himself onto his bed. “You’re ruining my life.”

“Look, Malfoy, just because Snape seems to fancy me, doesn’t mean—.”

“Shut up, Potty. I’m not trying to get into his pants. If I were, I’d have had him already. Severus has become a bit of a rag since the war.” They exchanged a commiserating look. Everyone at _Pandora’s Box_ and St. Hedwig’s Orphanage had had quite enough of the mess Snape’s jilted lovers left behind. “You’re just so stupid!”

Harry bristled automatically. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Severus wants you, you midget! He’s practically gagging for it. Mother and Molly Weasley know it, I know it, everyone in this bloody world knows it. Just get it over with so we can all go on with our lives.”

Harry looked down at Snape’s schedule on his knees. “I don’t shag just for the sake of it, Malfoy.”

Malfoy snorted a laugh. “Only someone who’s never done it would say that. Just—fuck him, ok? We’re all waiting.”

Harry picked at the edges of the notebook. He muttered, “But he’s just so bloody _infuriating_ —wait, _wait_. Who is ‘all’?”

Draco’s eyes got wide. “Uh, no—no one, of course. Why would you even—” Harry gave him a look, “—fine. Fine! Snape claimed Mother’s debt to get you to work with him. Since Molly thinks you need someone to take care of you, they decided to give you two a hand and conscripted me into helping against my will. I was going to watch him seduce you with ridiculously cheesy innuendo while you stayed stupidly oblivious, purely for the entertainment factor, but,” his eyes grew cold, “no one takes my job. For the business and myself, the sooner Severus recalls who’s the model here, the better. If you’d just get on with it, Potter!”

“Draco!” came a voice from the doorway. Harry and Malfoy turned to look. Snape stood there, arms crossed and a furious expression on his face. “I think you need to go for a walk.”

Malfoy snorted. Harry had to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat.

Without taking his eyes off Harry, Snape said, “Leave, Draco.”

Malfoy tried to protest, but found himself promptly deposited outside their bedroom by a flick of Snape’s wand.

*** 

Snape went to the drink cabinet and returned with a shot of Firewhisky, the bottle and a second glass. “Drink.”

Harry frowned. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to try to do wicked things to you and I’d rather cut out the awkward part until later. Will you?” As already mentioned, Harry _trusted_ the damned bastard. They drank. Snape shook his head in despair. “Insanely naive. Or naively insane, I cannot be sure.”

They looked anywhere but at each other.

“So,” Harry began, after a moment, “was Malfoy right? _Do_ you want me?”

“Obviously, Potter. The question is, do you?”

“Want myself?” Harry asked in confusion. He tried to get up. Only to sway dangerously. Snape caught him and pulled him close. “I suppose I do enjoy myself by, er, by myself, but—.”

Snape’s eyes might as well have caught fire for all the heat in them. “Would you say my name?” he interrupted.

Harry smiled, pleasantly buzzed. “Severus,” he said, “ _Severus_. Seh-verrr-us,” he drawled, “Sev—.”

That was as far he got before a hand clamped over his mouth, and Harry opened his eyes to see Snape’s face inches from his own, breath ragged and eyes wild. “Six years at Hogwarts and you never did learn not to tickle a sleeping dragon. Stay still,” he ordered, starting to pluck Harry’s flowery shirt from him. His hands brushed Harry’s nipples and Harry felt a jolt of pleasure go through him.

Merlin, had it been that long since his last wank? He closed his eyes and twisted his body closer to Snape’s.

Snape picked Harry up and took him to Harry’s bed, locking the door with a flick of his wand. Probably in case Malfoy decided in favour of retribution. Slytherins were famous for that sort of thing.

“Harry.” Harry found his legs being parted and opened his eyes to see Snape move in between. “Harry,” he said again, before hooking a finger in Harry’s underwear and inching them down Harry’s legs, then off. “Gorgeous, Mr Potter. Utterly gorgeous.”

Harry spread his legs wider. Yes, it had been that long. Besides, he was in paradise, watching the sun set through the window. He felt pliant, sexy, adored. And there was an incredibly amorous Snape sitting between his legs, breathing on him. If he would just—ah, _yes_! Snape’s lips closed over Harry’s cock and moved downwards until Harry was fully sheathed in his lovely mouth. Snape started sucking.

“Oh, god! Please, please, pleasepleaseplea—.”

Harry fancied that he could feel Snape’s smirk around him. A hand cupped his testicles and the other moved lower, slick with something cold and slippery, and absolutely wonderful against Harry’s hole. Harry grabbed the blankets in a death-grip to keep himself grounded. He writhed and twisted, trying to get Snape’s fingers _in_ him instead of teasing him to madness.

Finally, Snape pushed a finger in, moved it around in search of something Harry knew would drive him crazy, then found it. “Oh, _god_!” Snape started finger-fucking Harry slowly, tortuously slow, aiming exactly right, before adding another finger, and then a third. He let Harry’s cock fall out of his mouth, but massaged Harry’s testicles and moved his fingers faster.

“You will come like this, Harry,” he said and dove in, bending his head past Harry’s cock and lower, much lower, thrusting his tongue in next to his fingers, then nipping at the rim of Harry’s arsehole.

Harry lost his mind a little, then. He cried out, begged for things he would not be getting anytime soon. Snape kept a hand tight around one of Harry’s buttocks, the other fucking him faster and harder and his mouth sucking heavily at the rim. Harry was close, so goddammit fucking close that he felt like crying. He couldn’t help it. He wanted Snape to bring him off, but he was almost there, so close he felt his thighs quivering and the blood rushing, and he just needed a _little push_ — He fisted both of his hands around his cock and started pulling in time with Snape’s thrusts, focusing on sensation.

One, two pulls and he was coming and _coming_ , harder than ever, taking shuddering breaths through the hot waves of pleasure cursing through him.

Harry’s muscles released and he slumped onto the bed, gasping for breath, heart beating a mile a second. Snape was still lapping at him, kissing the insides of his thighs, up to his knee, then back to his stomach and chest. He bit gently at Harry’s neck before finally drawing away. Harry saw him wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, taking a sip out of Harry’s Firewhisky glass before he swooped back down on Harry to take his mouth forcefully. Harry gasped. He threw his arms around Snape’s shoulders, closed his still numb thighs around Snape’s hips, feeling the rather impressive erection pulsing through the fabric of Snape’s linen trousers. “Do you want—?”

“Potter,” Snape snapped. He seemed to have awakened from whatever frenzy he had fallen into, because he wrenched himself away from Harry and squeezed himself in annoyance. “I’m not going to pop your cherry with you three sheets to the wind, don’t worry. I planned to, but I can’t. Damn you.”

Harry felt too mellow for indignation. “What’s your problem?” he asked reasonably, stretching on the bed. Now that he was finally relaxed, he didn’t see what had got Snape’s knickers in a twist.

Snape was glaring darkly. “I become a painter and you, you succubus, manage to ruin me for any other model of beauty.” He started pacing. “So, I go to _Pandora’s Box_ – which is a box I ought to have left closed, by the way, and spent the rest of my life denying you – to ask Narcissa for her pretty models and she tells me you owe the mag. So, I collect my debt to have you work with me – so that I can get it out of my system, so to speak – but no. You have to look like I just murdered your owl, when Black and Bagman come into the conversation. Yet you ignore my advances. You vanished after the war, I haven’t set eye on you for more than ten minutes in ages and—you’re driving me mad, Potter! _Siren_.”

By then, Harry felt like he had won the Quidditch Cup. “You’re the one who has been seducing me.” He smiled in what he hoped was a suggestive manner, leaned back and ran a hand down his still feverish skin. “Besides, I think I can solve one of those issues. Didn’t you want me looking well-shagged?”

Snape stared a total of two seconds, probably assessing Harry’s soundness of mind, before leaping for his painting gear. Harry had to admit, he felt rather sexy smouldering for Snape.

**Part III.**

Harry could have sworn this was the first time he landed on his feet after travelling by Portkey, but then, he had Severus’s hand firmly clasped around his waist.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at them. “No one wants to steal Potter, Severus, I promise” he drawled.

Severus glared at him, before pecking Harry on the lips. “I’ll collect our luggage. Stay out of trouble,” he added, staring at both of them in turn. Draco widened his eyes innocently, as if asking “Who, me?” Harry spared him a disgusted glance. No one who knew Malfoy as long as both Snape and Harry did would be fooled by that. No one.

As soon as Severus was out of hearing range, Malfoy placed a hand on Harry’s waist and let it drop to Harry’s arse, squeezing suggestively. “We could make a show out of this, Potter,” he said with a mischievous look. “Severus would _flip_. Not to mention the other two thirds of you!”

Harry supposed he meant Ron and Hermione. “Listen to me very carefully, Malfoy,” he said. “I’ve got two dogs.” Seeing as Malfoy look confused, he added, “They bite.”

When Malfoy paled satisfactorily, Harry nodded at Severus, picked up his rucksack and walked away.

If he was swaying his hips more than he ever had, well. He supposed he understood better why people wanted to look sexy and show off their assets. His were only for Severus, of course. Not for the masses, like Malfoy’s. Feeling desired like this made Harry feel ten feet tall, not objectified at all.

It was a feeling he most certainly _didn’t_ want back in the box.

Harry stepped onto the terminal and immediately spotted Ron and Hermione standing next to Sirius; Molly and Narcissa conspicuous in their absence. Probably didn’t want to deal with a scene at the Portkey terminal.

Harry dashed to his friends and hugged them in turn; then Sirius, a bit more reluctantly.

“Hey, kiddo!” Sirius exclaimed, with his overbearing cheer. “How was Greece?”

“Why, hello, handsome!” tweeted an unfortunately familiar voice behind Harry. “Missed me?”

Malfoy was practically dripping sweetness and Harry knew that look. He knew it well enough to know it was always followed by someone’s broken heart. Harry almost gagged. “This cannot be happening,” he moaned.

Sirius flushed darkly. “A man needs companionship—!”

Harry scoffed. “I know the kind of _companionship_ you need.”

It explained why Malfoy was so determined to grope Harry. It was his demented version of how to tease one’s lover. It also explained Sirius presence at the Portkey terminal, seeing as he and Harry hadn’t spoken properly in months.

Harry couldn’t see it, but he swore he could feel Severus tense. “Pardon me?” He whirled past Harry and poked Sirius in the chest. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve been . . . _involved_ ,” he spat the word, “with my godson?”

Harry turned to look at Severus. “Really, Severus?” he asked dryly.

Silence.

Sirius gasped. “Oh, Merlin, _no_! Harry James Potter, you bloody well didn’t!”

“What?”

Sirius simply glared. “I should have known exactly what you’d be up to.” He scoffed. “Really, Greece, in the summer, with Snape. Practically a cliché! And did you think I didn’t notice how your boyfriends have the tendency to be freakishly tall, ugly gits that never stick around for long before you dump them? Maybe now you’ll stop being mad at me for having it off with the git in May,” he added morosely.

Harry wanted to smother Sirius. Preferably with Snuffle’s smelly pillow. He could feel his face turn a few (hundred) degrees hotter and glared for all he was worth. Sirius didn’t even have the decency to look contrite. Oh no, he simply looked like Harry had stolen his Christmas.

Snape, on the other hand, was virtually broadcasting his smugness. “Indeed? Fascinating.” He curled an arm around Harry’s shoulders and gently steered him towards the exit. “Now, if you don’t mind, Potter and I have a few more pieces to,” he paused dramatically, “ _finish_.”

Much to Harry’s surprise, everyone, including Ron and Hermione, groaned in exasperation.

“Severus,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth, “ _stop_ with the innuendo.”

“Yeah, Professor,” said Ron, looking remarkably red in the face. “Just because Harry doesn’t get it, doesn’t mean the rest of us should suffer through it.”

Harry frowned. “Get what?”

Malfoy sighed. “Potter, I believe you two might just work out.”


End file.
